


sugarcubes

by julek



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Fluff, Jaskier just wants Roach to love him, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26616127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julek/pseuds/julek
Summary: Five times Jaskier does nice things for Roach and one time she returns the favor.based off atumblrprompt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 278





	sugarcubes

“I told you not to touch Roach,” Geralt says when he hears his mare stomping her feet on the ground, displeased. She’s tethered to a tree near their fire and Geralt, now busy brewing some potions, had finished brushing her a few minutes ago.

Jaskier curses himself mentally, still not used to Geralt and his witcher hearing, capable of listening to a bird’s cry three towns away. Reluctantly, he draws his hand away from the horse, grinning innocently in Geralt’s direction.

“I was just saying goodnight!” He says, sitting down cross-legged on his bedroll, “first impressions are _very_ important, you know. Wouldn’t want her to think I was being impolite on purpose, not when we are _this_ ”—he pinches his fingers together—“close to being best friends.”

Geralt looks up at him, unimpressed. “She doesn’t like you.”

Behind them, Roach snorts in agreement, and Jaskier splutters in indignance.

*

The forest is quiet.

No birds chirping, no predators lurking around, no sound. Ideal work conditions, in Geralt’s opinion. He’s crouched down next to a fallen tree, waiting for the drowners to take his bait.

Suddenly, the swamp’s stillness is breached by soft singing and feet stepping on branches. Rolling his eyes, Geralt stands up as quietly as possible and walks over to Jaskier, who’s busy picking flowers from a nearby meadow.

“I told you to stay with Roach,” he says in greeting, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Jaskier yelps and turns around to face him, clutching his heart and letting the flowers fall to the ground.

“ _Gods_ , Geralt! Warn a guy, would you? I thought you were one of those, um… what do you call them? Swimmers.” 

“Drowners.”

“My words exactly,” he says, gathering some long stems. “I _was_ waiting with Roach, mind you, but I got bored. So I looked around and thought _hey! Roach looks awfully dull without some pretty flowers weaved in her mane_ , so here I am.”

Geralt lifts his eyebrows, abandoning all hope for a peaceful, quick hunt.

“She’ll trample you to death before she lets you touch her,” he deadpans.

Jaskier tsks, already making his way back to their camp with his fresh selection of flowers.

Geralt waits for the inevitable.

“Fucking _ow_!” He hears, and feels a smile tugging at his lips. “That doublet was new! That is _not_ how one reacts to gifts, you vicious horse. Did that witcher teach you _nothing_ about manners?”

He did, actually. He’s glad she’s putting them to use.

*

“Fuck, I’m cold.”

They’re in the outskirts of Blaviken, and much to Jaskier’s chagrin, they’re making camp in the forest. Winter’s near, and as much as he would have liked to sleep in a warm bed, he would have turned it down anyway. He’d seen the look on Geralt’s face as they approached the town, and that had been enough of a reason to follow him into the forest.

Jaskier is pacing around the fire, his woolen cloak snug around his shoulders, doing little to protect him from the biting wind. Geralt had gone deeper into the forest to hunt something for their dinner and hadn’t yet returned.

He looks over his shoulder at Roach, who’s laying down on the ground, her legs tucked under her body. Geralt had slung a blanket over her back, and she’d been dozing off for the last half hour, seemingly unfazed by the cold.

He knows it’s a bad decision, and he’ll probably be kicked and yelled at, but right now he can’t find it in himself to care. His fingers are frozen and he can’t feel his ears, and he’s sure he’ll drop dead any minute now from hypothermia, so why not?

“Hi, beautiful,” he whispers, crouching down next to Roach, watching her reaction. “Do you mind if I sit next to you? You see, it’s horribly cold,” he sits down, carefully as not to startle her, “and it’s something my brothers and I used to do, you know? Huddling for warmth.”

If Roach notices him laying against her side, she doesn’t show it. He gently places his head on top of her spine, and drapes himself in his cloak.

“You’re incredibly warm, did you know that? Had I known that before, I would have cuddled you sooner.”

He’s so warm and comfortable he almost doesn’t notice Geralt coming back. He hears his footfalls but decides to ignore them, too cozy to move, but Roach has other plans. All of a sudden, she stands up, leaving him on the floor, confused.

“Wha—Roach!” He exclaims, picking himself off the ground. “We were doing fine! What happened?”

Geralt smirks as he starts to skin the rabbit. “Maybe that will teach you not to bother her.”

“But you don’t understand, I—we were happily laying side by side just a minute ago!” Jaskier says, sitting in front of the fire. “ _You_ startled her.”

Geralt snorts. “I did?”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and looks at Roach, who’s laying down again, unperturbed. “Traitor,” he whispers.

*

Spices, curated meats, oils, and baked goods are all Geralt can smell, meaning this particular market isn’t too big and they’ll be out on the road soon. That, if he can get Jaskier to hurry and get whatever he so desperately needs.

“Oh, that stone _is_ beautiful,” the bard says to a bald salesman, keen on selling him a new ring. “Alas, it’s much too expensive for me.”

He gives the salesman a sheepish smile and moves on to the next stall.

“I just need one more thing, dear witcher, and we can be on our way,” he says, grinning.

Geralt arches a brow, but says nothing. Better not to distract him, he’s learned.

“Hello, madam!” He chirps, looking at the goods displayed on her counter, “if you would be so kind, I’d like a full bag of sugar cubes.”

_Huh_. That’s not what Geralt had been expecting. Cherries, maybe, or a honeycake, not sugar cubes.

Jaskier pays the woman and kindly thanks her, then ties the small bag to his belt. “Well, I’m done. Are we leaving?”

Geralt nods.

They make their way to the side of the road, where Roach is nibbling on the outgrown grass. He takes the herbs he’d purchased and places them inside Roach’s saddlebag, while Jaskier resumes his daily chattering.

“You’re looking quite dashing today, my lady,” he says, gently stroking the mare’s neck.

Geralt expects Roach to hastily brush Jaskier’s hand aside, but much to his surprise, she doesn’t, snorting happily instead. He looks at them for a second, dumbfounded.

“Geralt? Are we going, then?”

“Hmm.”

*

Summer is kind enough to let a gentle breeze filter through the trees, giving Jaskier a breath of clean air.

He’s got his breeches rolled up to his knees, and his doublet is nowhere to be seen. They’d been traveling nonstop for two long, humid days, the burning sun above them, and Jaskier had been too tired to even sing, lazily strumming his lute as he walked next to Geralt. Then, in the middle of a pointless rant about how the world would be better off without the sun and its infernal heat, Jaskier spotted a stream.

Grabbing Roach’s brush from Geralt’s saddlebags, Jaskier takes her reins and gently leads her into the stream. She complies, braying lightly as she feels the water on her legs.

“I know, girl,” Jaskier says, gathering water on his cupped hands and letting it pour on her head, minding her ears, “It’s too hot out, even for you.”

He looks over to Geralt, who’s got his back to them, scrubbing mud from his boots.

“You know,” he murmurs, smoothly brushing her mane, scratching behind her ears, “He doesn’t think we’re friends, you and I.” She snorts in response, and he chuckles. “He still thinks you don’t like me.”

She moves forward, and Jaskier’s about to move out of the way to let her walk out of the stream when she bumps her head affectionately against his chest.

“Oh,” he whispers, overcome with emotion. “As you know, I’ve become quite the expert at reading Geralt’s hums and silences, but this is uncharted territory. Animal behavior is foreign to me.”

She swishes her tail, and Jaskier huffs out a laugh.

“I’ll give it my own meaning, then,” he says, pressing his nose against her snout. “I love you too.”

*

The tavern is packed to the brim, overflowing with hearty patrons who served as a great audience, generously rewarding Jaskier with applause and tankards of ale with his name written on them.

“Thank you, my good men and women, for listening to my tales!” He exclaims, hopping off the stool he’d been using as a makeshift stage.

He heads to the bar, picking up two of the mugs and moving toward the corner where Geralt’s sitting, half-hidden under the shadows.

“Help yourself, witcher,” he says, smiling brightly. “The crowd was kind to us tonight.”

_To you_ , Geralt thinks but doesn’t say. Instead, he takes a swig of ale. “So I’ve seen.”

Jaskier beams at him, his cheeks flushed and his hair matted with sweat. He downs half his glass, sitting back on his chair, sighing contentedly. 

They spend the evening in comfortable silence, Jaskier casually making remarks about the town or the last contract, taking small bites out of a piece of bread. After a while, Geralt stands up.

“I’ll go check on Roach.”

“Oh, good!” Jaskier says, standing next to him. “I forgot my quill in her saddlebags, I’ll go with you.”

Geralt hums and they walk past the people at the tavern. They reach the half-lit stables at the back, where roach chews on some straw in her stall.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jaskier greets, stroking her snout. Geralt starts brushing her down, and Jaskier looks into her saddlebags for his forgotten quill. A long time ago, Geralt had given up on trying to split their belongings into different bags, realizing the _side, my side_ logic meant nothing to Jaskier.

After all, they shared everything. Coin, wine, food. Beds, sometimes, waking up with their legs entwined, Jaskier’s head on Geralt’s shoulder, embraced in what they both tried to pass off as the natural seeking of warmth on cold nights, nothing else.

Jaskier leans against a pillar, watching Geralt take care of his horse. They’d been traveling together for so long, yet it still amazes Jaskier to see Geralt move around Roach. How his gaze softens, and a small smile stretches across his lips, only for Roach to see. How he murmurs sweet nothings, rubbing that spot on her jaw he knows she likes.

“Okay,” Geralt says, “go to sleep, now. We’re leaving at dawn.”

Roach bumps her head against Geralt’s chest, lovingly, and he gives her a smile.

“Goodnight, darling,” Jaskier says, sneaking a sugar cube into her mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When he turns back, Geralt’s looking at them with a fond expression, a small smile on his lips. He moves toward Jaskier, his eyes soft.

“You’re spoiling her”, he says, amused. This close, Jaskier can see Geralt’s got a little bit of mud on his chin, and he wants to wipe it off.

“She’s a good horse,” Jaskier tells him, feeling Roach’s eyes on him. “She deserves nice things.”

“Hmm.” Geralt closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly.

Jaskier moves forward, licking his thumb, and gently wipes Geralt’s chin. He opens his eyes, watching Jaskier.

“There,” Jaskier whispers, his thumb now stroking Geralt’s cheek.

Suddenly, he feels Roach nudge him forward with her snout, and he stumbles onwards, clutching Geralt’s shirt for balance. They’re close, Geralt’s breath on Jaskier’s cheek, his hands on the bard’s waist.

“She’s a clever horse, too,” Geralt says, pressing the tip of his nose against Jaskier’s, rubbing softly.

“She is,” Jaskier murmurs against Geralt’s lips.

Roach nickers softly in agreement.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3
> 
> find me on [tumblr](https://julek.tumblr.com/)!


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